


Straight On 'Til Morning

by beeezie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Family Drama, In-Laws, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeezie/pseuds/beeezie
Summary: James I's parents tend to overcomplicate just about everything.Including courtship, not-quite-in-laws, and adventures.Written for Crimson Quill's 'The Strong Female Challenge' and PaulaTheProkaryote's 'The Mythical Challenge' on the HPFT forums.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paulatheprokaryote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulatheprokaryote/gifts).



> Please note - I started writing about James I's parents before any canon information was released on them, and by the time it was, I was too attached to their names to change them. James's parents are the main characters of the story, though. :)

    I was in my potions workroom finishing up a sleep potion for old Elizabeth Bones in the village when the door blew open.  
  
    “Not now,” I told Tristan Potter as he trudged in.  
  
    “But Iz-”  
  
    “It can wait. Give me ten minutes.” I gestured toward the door that led to my sitting room. “Go.”  
  
    He let out a snort, kicked off his snow covered boots, and slumped toward the thick wooden door. My potions workroom had to be kept cool; otherwise, the potions would congeal.  
  
    When I followed him a few minutes later, he was lounging on the floor, his back to the warmth of the wooden wall. Potions workroom aside, I did not like to be cold; there was a spell laid evenly throughout the wood that would kept it pleasantly warm throughout the cold winter months.  
  
    “Hello, _darling,”_ he said as I closed the door behind me.  
  
    I didn’t bother to hold back my giggle, and he grinned as soon as my lips parted. He liked it when I laughed at him. In fact, he often phrased things specifically to induce me to laugh at him. It was one of the many things I liked about him. When I made to sit down next to him, sweeping my skirt out, he grabbed my waist and pulled me into his lap instead before I hit the floor.  
  
    “Tristan!”  
  
    He kissed my neck. “I missed you.”  
  
    “You saw me yesterday.”  
  
    “But yesterday was so long ago. Are you ready to make an honest man of me yet? That would make things so much easier.”  
  
    I twisted around to study him. Tristan Potter was very handsome, even if his nose and cheeks were still a little red from the cold and his dark hair was flattened from his thick woolen hat. His high cheekbones made his face light up whenever he smiled, which was often; his hazel eyes often twinkled from an untold joke; and his touch could be intoxicating.  
  
    Absurd though he undoubtedly was, I really was very fond of him.  
  
    “Not quite yet,” I told him, nuzzling up against his very warm and comforting body. It was very improper. After some internal conflict, I had come down on the side of not caring. “My mother invited me by for tea tomorrow. Would you like to come with me?”  
  
    “Only if you’ll make an honest man of me.” Before I could pull back to glare at him, his arms circled around me. “Oh, stop it. Yes, of course. Isolda, you _know_ that. Did you tell her you were going to invite me?”  
  
    I hesitated. “I didn’t _not_ tell her,” I said finally. He let out a chuckle. “Well, it won’t _surprise_ her.”  
  
    He considered that. “No, likely not. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me for my _'imprudent failure to observe even the most basic standards of respectability?'”_  
  
    “Probably before she forgives me for lying about it.”  
  
    My mother had spent months trying to convince me to meet Tristan Potter after he’d moved to Godric’s Hollow. In fairness, everyone else in the village was mad about him, too - but since I’ve never really been the sort of person to swoon over good-looking rich men with egos the size of Hogwarts, I’d avoided him on principle.  
  
    And then he’d cornered me while I was buying potions supplies and made me laugh. I do have a soft spot for men who can make me laugh. I don’t meet many of them.  
  
     One thing had led to another, and then my mother had walked in on him lounging on the floor of my sitting room far too late in the evening for a proper social visit. She still hadn’t quite forgiven me, even after she’d accepted that the impropriety was indicative of simple foolishness rather than a secret pregnancy, and her previous high opinion of him had definitely been left severely dented.  
  
    I steered the conversation onto less uncomfortable subjects. Tristan followed my lead.  
  
    When we next looked up at the clock, we had a very unwelcome surprise. “Is it that late already?” he asked no one in particular. “What time did your mother tell you to come by at?”  
  
    “Late morning. I should probably get to sleep.”  
  
    “I should probably let you.”  
  
    I didn’t move, and neither did he. His grip around me tightened a little and when I swivelled around to look at him, he leaned down to kiss me.  
  
    I liked kissing Tristan Potter.  
  
    When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead on mind. “You really _should_ get to sleep,” he said.  
  
    “I know.” I pressed my lips against his cheek, and he grinned. “Are you - are you staying?”  
  
    I’m still not quite sure how Tristan Potter came to spend quite so much time alone with me in my sitting room until all hours of the night. I’m much less sure how he came to spend some of them in my bed. I remember it being my idea, of course; I’m just not sure why I thought it was a good one.  
  
    “If you’d like me to,” he said.  
  
    There was a part of me that was very aware that this was a ridiculous song and dance - he almost never said no when I asked, and if I asked, it was always because I wanted him to. I suppose the vestiges of propriety made us both feel better, even if it was just an act that was certain to end at the same place every time.  
  
    I shifted my weight to one hand to push myself to my feet. He kissed my head before I could rise. _“Would_ you like me to?” he asked.  
  
    I could feel the color start to flood my cheeks as I nodded. It was becoming harder to sleep when he wasn’t here with me, which I should have taken as a sure sign that I was in well, well over my head.  
  
    But I’d lost some of my good sense when it came to Tristan Potter since he’d first made me laugh in McKinnon’s potions shop.  
  
    “I’m going to - to change,” I said. “You should - you know.” He grabbed his bag off the floor, and headed into the washroom.  
  
    I didn’t let him keep pyjamas here, obviously. The best explanation I’d possibly be able to give if someone saw them was that at least they indicated that he didn’t sleep in my bed naked. I don’t think that that defense would get me very far, especially if the person who saw it was my mother.  
  
    People usually didn’t wander into my bedroom, but one could never be too careful. That was also why I wore pyjama trousers when he was here - it eliminated the risk of my knee-length sleeping gown getting pushed up higher than was prudent.  
  
    When we were cuddled against each other in my bed, covered by the knitted blanket and matching quilt my grandmother had made for me as a gift for finishing Hogwarts and moving into my own house, I couldn’t stop a giggle from slipping out. “Why do we keep doing this?”  
  
    He pressed his lips against the back of my neck and pulled me closer. “Because you like it, and I’m absolutely helpless to resist you.” I could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
    “That’s not a very good answer.”  
  
    He pulled my messy braid aside and started to kiss my neck in earnest. “Clearly it’s good _enough,_ since you keep telling me to stay - and that’s with you apparently being an ice queen. Everyone tells me that I’m in danger of freezing solid every time I kiss you.”  
  
    “Do you agree with them?” I teased, rolling over to stare at his silhouette in the darkness.  
  
    Rather than going back to my neck, he pressed his lips against mine. I felt his hand slip beneath my shirt to rest on the small of my back. When I gasped - I still hadn’t quite gotten used to the feel of his bare skin against mine at all, let alone like _this_ \- he brushed his tongue against mine. I wound my arms around his neck and deepened his kiss.  
  
    “No, I find you to be exceedingly warm,” he said when we’d finally pulled back from each other. His lips brushed against my forehead. “Though I can’t say I’m sorry that no one else seems to see that _quite_ like I do.”  
     
    “I hope no one else ever does. They’d never speak to me again.”  
  
    “I’ll take it to my grave,” he breathed. “Kiss me again.”  
  
    In my defense, neither of us was taking off our clothes, which had to count for something. Probably not much - inviting a man who I wasn’t even _engaged_ to into my bed night after night wasn’t the wisest choice I had ever made in the first place, let alone repeatedly made for months - but something.  
  
    His hand slid up a little higher on my back as we kissed. I knew he wanted to push further - much further - than that. I also knew that he wouldn’t until I invited him to.  
  
    Which I almost undoubtedly would, sooner or later.  
  
    I felt his tongue brush against mine again.  
  
    When it came to Tristan Potter, I was always in over my head.


End file.
